


that the music's fine like sparkling wine (go and have your fun)

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drinking, Get Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Vacation, Wedding, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12233268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: Yuuri receives an invitation to a wedding in St. Barts right after the Cup of China. It only makes logical sense for Victor to be his plus one.Nothing would make Victor happier than for his attendance with Yuuri to be something more.





	that the music's fine like sparkling wine (go and have your fun)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiaronna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiaronna/gifts).



> This was fun as I got to write for kiaronna. Her fic, "The Best Men" was the final push I needed to have Phichit and Chris as my secondary OTP so this is the least I can do, I suppose! I very much hope you enjoy this!
> 
> This is the prompt: _Set pre-episode 10. Yuuri is invited to a wedding, and Viktor tags along as his plus-1. Viktor spends the entire wedding daydreaming/being slightly jealous of married people/desperately hoping Yuuri asks him to dance. Yuuri spends the entire wedding.... well, I'll leave this up to the author._
> 
> I've seen the events, decor, and guest swag I used here on lifestyle blogs and Instagram for real weddings. The gold gown Beulah changes into for her reception is a specific homage to Troian Bellisaro's wedding last December. The hotel, the Isle de France, is real, though due to the hurricanes it has been closed until further notice. Fun fact: you can only get onto St. Barts via 16-passenger puddle jumpers. It's a very small island with a very small airport.
> 
> In canon, Yuuri performed "Stammi Vicino" as his EX Gala program by himself during the qualifiers and with Victor at the final, but for the sake of artistic liberty here he used Moulin Rouge's "Come What May." The wedding proper happens in between Beijing and Moscow...let's pretend there's enough time for a jaunt to the Caribbean during the Grand Prix final qualifying season. The title is a lyric snagged from "Save the Last Dance" by the Drifters.
> 
> Beta'ed by the lovely Proserpineceres! Thank you again!

Everything is perfect.

Well…in terms of ambience, food, and locale, everything is perfect.

The reception is going on hour three, the dancing having no end in sight…at least not until the fireworks begin soon. Victor stands next to Celestino with a champagne flute in one hand, watching the revelers celebrate the union of the Detroit Skating Club’s Miguel and Beulah. The temperature in St. Barts is perfect considering it’s November and his next destination is the sure-to-be-unforgiving Moscow.

Yuuri grins, charges across the dance floor with another former rink mate. He dips him, and they both laugh uproariously, so much so the current song is drowned out.

Victor thinks about last December in Sochi: two men sharing a drunken paso doble without a care in the world. He thinks of how his life instantly changed.

The champagne is an off-dry brut, but it goes down as bitter as a beer that's been grossly overhopped.

_Early August_

Victor watches him open it with a curious eye over his mug of Sapporo. He’s already bathed, spending extra time out in the spring proper to watch the candy-colored late summer sunset, and now he sits, warm and relaxed in his green jinbei while Terrace House plays on the flat-panel tv. 

Yuuri lit up when he saw the box—custom Laduree packaging in purple and embossed with gold. It holds matching macarons inside with a thick envelope addressed to Yuuri in gold ink. Now that it’s open, Victor reads the invitation upside down. 

_You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Miguel Aaron Perez-Paparilla and Elisabeth Beulah Cohen—_

“Oh wow, already,” Yuuri says. He picks up the RSVP card—he’s to state his attendance, if he has a plus one, and meal preferences from a selection of three entrees. There is another, smaller card with the name of a hotel and a code for discounted lodgings. 

Yuuri makes a soft, disapproving sound. “It’s the week after we go to Beijing,” he thinks out loud. “St. Barthelemy…”

“It’s an island in the Caribbean,” Victor assists. “It's a fairly popular vacation destination. The climate will feel nice then.”

The macarons are cassis and lemon flavored, if Victor has to guess from the dark purple and goldenrod hues. Victor files this away to “borrow” for his own wedding invitations.

He gives Yuuri a long look—his charge is torn, adjusting his glasses while he looks the date over with narrowed eyes. Then he picks up his iPhone and sends a text. When it signals a response, he opens the message. “Phichit’s going,” he announces. “But his qualifiers will be over…I’ll still have Moscow.”

“Are these close friends?” Victor asks. He’s not heard their names, but that means nothing with Yuuri. He never knew Phichit was his close friend until the assignments were announced. 

“Rink mates that Phichit and I spent most of our free time with,” Yuuri answers with a smile. “They’re older than me by a couple of years and retired from competition last Worlds. They’re ice dancers…Beulah said they’re taking some time to focus on the wedding. I think Disney on Ice is interested in casting them as Hercules and Megara, though, when they choose to come back.”

“If you want to go, you should,” Victor says. He sips through the foam in his mug. “Qualifying for the Final is important but not so much you should miss the wedding of longtime good friends.”

“Did you ever take a break during the season for a wedding?” Yuuri asks. 

“Once or twice for family,” Victor says. “One simply cannot get out of some things.”

Yuuri looks at the card a second time. He picks up a ballpoint pen and checks yes. He hesitates at the box for the plus one while worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’d just take Phichit if he hadn’t gotten his own invite.”

Yuuri doesn’t have a date, Victor realizes. He sits differently, more outwardly casual. The robe slips to show off more of his shoulder. Part of him registers Yuuri did not offer Victor as his first choice, but that doesn’t mean he may not be one at all. “If you attend a wedding, I won’t have anything else to do. It’d be silly for me to come back here with no one to coach. I'd be willing to go.”

Victor puts minimal longing into the words. He keeps his expression neutral, though he wants to just outright ask. The thought of them together on a tropical island, holding hands during the vows, Yuuri in a beautiful suit like the last GPF in Sochi as he whisked him across the dance floor—

Yuuri looks at Victor with his eyebrows knit together and his glasses falling to the tip of his nose. “Well, you’re right. That makes sense, I guess, more so than going with a stranger.”

Not what Victor hoped for as a response, not even a little. “Yes, no need to force smalltalk.”

Yuuri’s smile sparkles like Altair, and Victor’s disappointment vanishes into the ether. 

_Now_

Yuuri and Phichit are busting a move with the bride, who changed gowns between the ceremony and the party. What once was lace and pure white with pearls is now a floor length, backless gold sequin number that would put an Oscar winning actress on a red carpet to shame. 

They all grind on each other in a way that would raise Victor’s eyebrows had he not seen the underwear pole dancing ten months ago. His body temperature rises instead.

Miguel makes the rounds shaking hands and thanking his guests. He comes to Victor, giving him a genuine smile. “It’s a good party,” he says. His bow tie’s gone, as is his custom seersucker blazer. 

“It’s a fabulous party,” Victor replies with a grin and a raise of his glass.

Miguel returns the gesture then looks to his blushing bride and Victor’s protege cutting a rug. Victor considers tapping Yuuri’s shoulder, suavely saying let me have this moment.

He stays where he is, drinking champagne and ignoring a pointed look from a retired ice dancer he met the day before.

_Last Week_

While silver is not gold, it is worth far more than missing the podium, and Victor’s beside himself with pride at the Gala. He watches Yuuri skate in a blue, crimson, and gold costume befitting the Imperial descendants of Amaterasu—-the song is a soft piece with crescendoing piano from a Baz Luhrmann jukebox musical about courtesans, writers, and the real meaning of love and truth. The female and male vocalists fill the otherwise quiet stadium with a poetic sense of adoration and peace, expressing their true feelings in a harmonious blending of words and notes. 

_Listen to my heart—can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything. Seasons may change, winter to spring—but I’ll love you until the end of time._

They kissed yesterday, or rather Victor kissed Yuuri for the first time. He’d waited since last December, and it finally happened. He kissed him, and Yuuri blushed and smiled. Now more than anything, Victor hopes Yuuri skates for him alone. 

He thinks with a great deal of certainty “Eros” is aimed his way—he said as much before Yuuri gave that Earth-shattering performance. He knows the end pose of “Yuri On Ice” has Yuuri reaching to him—

He kissed him because of a botched 4F, and when it came time to sleep Yuuri went to his room, leaving Victor alone outside his closed door with his hat in hand and heart on his sleeve like a Hollywood cliche. 

_Suddenly my life doesn’t seem such a waste…it all revolves around you. And there’s no mountain too high, no river too wide—sing out this song, and I’ll be there by your side! Storm clouds may gather, stars may collide—_

Victor isn’t sure what to think while he witnesses Yuuri’s pristine hydroblading to the notes of the denouement. Phichit, the gold medalist and Thailand’s future, stands next to him with Celestino flanking his right, his gala outfit a royal purple adding to the image of a singing King of Siam. 

Yuuri ends on his knees, head back and arms flung in a beckoning gesture for his missing duet partner, and Victor applauds before anyone else in the stadium. Out of the corner of his eye, Victor sees Phichit’s scrutinizing gaze though it’s not aimed at Yuuri. Phichit is half a foot shorter than Victor, but his expression is incredibly sharp…perhaps mostly due to his eyeliner. Victor wants to learn his ways. “Hm?” he inquires of Yuuri’s friend.

Phichit’s expression turns cheeky. “I’m waiting for you to tackle him to the ice again, though you’d have to up the ante from last night. Maybe some heavy petting above the clothes this go around.”

Chris, who is on Victor’s other side having already performed, barks a laugh.

Victor finds this refreshing—so many younger skaters are terrified of him, scared to ask for anything more than a selfie or a signature on their team jackets. Sometimes they shout-rant at him about how he’s their hero which is flattering and alarming all at once.

Since the hot pot restaurant, Phichit has been friendly yet thoroughly underwhelmed. 

It is glorious.

“I apologize for disappointing you,” Victor replies. “But yesterday was an expression of gratitude for his forgiveness.” He focuses on Yuuri, bowing still as blue and white roses rain down from the stands. “It’s nothing more.”

Phichit’s mouth puckers like he sucked a potent lemon, the eyebrow on the same side of his face as the part in his hair rising skyward. If he was underwhelmed before, he may now think little of Victor as anything except from a pest adjacent to his closest friend. “Uh. Huh.”

Chris laughs a second time as he tugs the hem of his red and white jacket. “I think the kids would reply to that with ‘sure Jan’,” he adds with another chuckle.

Victor rolls his eyes. Phichit looks around him to give Chris a nod in solidarity. He hands Celestino his Thailand team jacket before stretching his arms above his head. Yuuri skates to the opening in the boards holding a plushie that’s shaped like a heaping bowl of Hiroko’s katsudon. Before Phichit heads out and Yuuri is within earshot, the former looks at Victor with all of the assessment of a leading anthropologist studying some hidden tribe in the Kalahari.

“Get it together,” Phichit chirps. “You’re running behind schedule.”

He skates away, and Yuuri steps carefully onto the floor. Victor reaches out and holds Yuuri close, the faint smell of his perspiration mingling with the crisp winter citrus of his conditioner. “As always you are so effortlessly beautiful, I’m breathless.”

Maybe he’s imagining it, but Yuuri’s hands cling to the back of his camel coat more tightly. “Thank you, Coach,” he says with a cute, affectionate lilt. 

The word _coach_ stings fiercer than any fall ever did.

_Now_

Yuuri bails on dancing to grab a drink, though he picks the sparkling guava mocktails in place of alcohol. He laughs, talking with another party goer, and he politely thanks the server bringing him some canapes. 

He’s danced with everyone—Celestino, Phichit, the happy couple, the blushing bride’s elderly Bubbelah, the DJ a few times…

Yet Victor stands on the sidelines in his candy blue suit, not asked or even remembered. Victor grabs a cocktail instead of more champs, downing half of it in a fit of pique. 

Lips pressed to his as they fell backwards on the ice, spinning in Sochi like no one else has ever lived…Victor is not a greedy man, but he knows he is a selfish one. It’s not wrong to want, it’s never wrong to want.

Phichit comes near, grabbing a cocktail for himself. He sips and eyes the glass. “I am gonna miss these,” he sighs with reverence at the pink-coral juice and rum mixture.

“Same,” Victor says with a smile.

Phichit gives him a look. “I told you. You’re running late.”

Victor stares at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“You need Waze,” Phichit elaborates, and only then does Victor realize he’s more than a bit tipsy. “You need Waze, but like for your idiot feelings so you can navigate your gridlock and find an alternate route without tolls.”

Victor’s eyes narrow in confusion. “What?”

Phichit waves a hand, finishes his drink, and saunters back to the dance floor. He whirls Yuuri into a tango, grabbing an orchid and chomping on it. Yuuri laughs in delight, and when Phichit dips Yuuri, his eyes are aggressively focused on Victor.

_Tuesday_

Two nights after the Gala until some point in the future (as time ceases making sense during their layover in Amsterdam), they fly almost completely around the world to their destination. They arrive in the sixteen passenger plane to St. Barts, and the hotel shuttle greets them per Victor’s arrangements. Luggage in hand, they drive to Baie de Flemands, check in, and are shown to their room.

Yuuri hands him a bag that sat on the desk. Jack Spade tote, bottle of cabernet sauvignon, apres-soleil, bug spray, Evian mist, high quality shampoo, conditioner, and after shave, more Laduree macarons in dark and light purple as well as gold and ivory, monogrammed silk scarves—one in blue and gray for Yuuri, the other shades of burgundy and cream for Victor—high quality body oil made from almonds, and personalized letters for each of them.

Victor appreciates a soon-to-be wed couple that spares no expense or comfort for their guests, but even he finds this ostentatious. Though—almost all of it is useful while they’re on the island. Better to not be ungrateful.

Yuuri reads his letter, though his eyes widen and his cheeks darken to a deep pink. He clears his throat, folding it up and putting it in his back pocket.

Victor peers at his—ivory paper, deep gold ink. 

_Welcome to St. Barts! Thank you so much for joining us on the beginning of the rest of our lives—below you will find a complete itinerary and guide to all of the locations for this weekend. Please be sure to be punctual so we can remain on schedule!_

_Thursday, 12:00—A Midsummer Night’s Dream luncheon at Le Select_

_Thursday, 8:00—White Party rehearsal dinner at La Langouste._

_Friday, 5:00—Ceremony and blessing beachside at Isle de France._

_Friday, 6:00—Post-ceremony cocktail, champagne, and hors d’oeuvres hour._

_Friday, 7:00—Reception at Case de L’Isle._

_Friday, 10:30—Fireworks! Sparklers for guests to be provided._

_We have a hashtag, #miguelheartsbeulah, so please remember to use it on all of your social media posts! We can’t wait to see what moments you all capture!_

_PS—Victor, thank you so kindly for the honor of your attendance. You’ve made a special day even more memorable. With love, Miguel and Beulah._

Fans, of course. Well, they are skaters even if they aren’t part of the same discipline. Victor smiles as he slides his note back into his goodie bag. Yuuri seems to have regained his composure, and Victor looks at him, lost for a moment in the sweet way his fringe frames his brow. “Ready?”

“Mm,” Yuuri says.

Once Victor secures them transportation, they head to a restaurant. Yuuri ends up loving ceviche, which is not terribly surprising as he’s from a beach town, and they book a snorkeling excursion for the next day to relax before the wedding gets into high gear. The sunset is golden, the very picture of what travel guides try to achieve to sell a destination. The water is such a crystalline blue it looks fake, and Yuuri and Victor laugh and smile like they’re on a date.

Victor is proud he only tries to take his hand twice.

_Now_

The hotel staff passes out sparklers, and the day-of coordinator leads everyone from the violet pergola-covered reception area to an open stretch of shoreline. The waves are soft and calming, the sky is littered with stars, and Victor understands the meaning of the word _paradise_ in a way he seldom has. A few minutes after the bulk of the party stands in position, rockets burst against the darkness. Showers of gold, lavender, and silver rain through the sky in shapes like constellations and soaring comets. It’s beautiful, Beulah and Miguel holding each other and kissing as their loved ones cheer. 

Lighters make the rounds, and people dance with their sparklers, spelling their names or drawing hearts in the air. It’s hard not to let the joy fill him too, and Victor loosens up, dancing with some of the child guests to their delight. The pyrotechnics intensify, louder and brighter than before, and while Victor draws a gold medal in the air for a cute little girl with red curls, he's tapped on the shoulder. 

Victor glances in that direction, and it was Yuuri. Yuuri with sweaty bangs and fogged up glasses, a smile brighter than the moon, his sleeves rolled up and pants cuffed high, his shoes and socks gone—he’s a disaster, but he’s a goddamn beautiful one.

He’s still out of reach, maybe by a mile or even just a couple inches. Victor feels slighted and petty. He frowns and turns back to the girl.

“Victor—“ Yuuri says with a laugh. “Come with me!”

After everyone else, like an afterthought. Victor’s never in his life been an afterthought—the knowledge that he is one to the person that he considers before everyone else is horrendous, too much to bear. He’d give Yuuri everything without question, but it’s like pushing on an exposed nerve ending right now. He kissed him, and he was rebuffed. He watched him have fun with every other person here so easily. He can’t loosen up with Victor unless he drinks sixteen glasses of wine first.

Victor pastes on his press smile. “No, thank you. I’m going for a walk.” He prowls towards the waves and away from the crowd. Yuuri doesn’t follow, because of course. Victor wore sandals with his suit, so he puts them in his hand and let’s the tide roll over his bare feet. He notes the sound of someone running, but he pays it no mind until his arm is grabbed. “What are you—“

“No, what are _you_?” Yuuri counters. He’s still vibrant, but it’s with frustration and even anger now, his eyes glittering like amber. “What is wrong with you? You’re so weird! And I’m annoyed with it!”

Victor stares at him, for once having nothing to say.

“You come to a wedding with me on a literal island paradise, we stay in a hotel room with only one bed,” Yuuri rants. “After you kissed me! But then that night when you kissed me, you didn’t—you didn’t say you wanted anything else! You said it was to surprise me like I surprised you with your signature quad, and I waited, I waited at my door for you to ask to come in! _And then you didn’t_.”

Yuuri breathes and rubs his eyes, while Victor considers disappearing into the black ocean, never to be seen again.

“I’ve been into you for…forever,” Yuuri continues. “ _Forever_ and sometimes I start to think you want me too, and then you do stuff where you harp on being my mentor—“ Yuuri makes an aggrieved noise. “So I play along, I call you coach after skating to three different love songs about you…because you don’t seem to want anything else. Tonight though—tonight I actually managed to talk myself into ignoring my doubts and getting a real answer, and I was doing that by saving the last dance for you.”

“Saving?” Victor asks. 

Wow, he’s misread so many things.

“You always save the best for last right?” Yuuri asks. The ferocity fades, uncertainty ruling his words in its place. “You—you put the one taking you home last on your dance card! It’s this whole thing!”

Victor stares at Yuuri. Yuuri stares back.

The last of the fireworks boom like thunder, as Yuuri waits for words or maybe something larger. Victor remembers a party a year ago and how he longed to see him to his door and greet the sun together. 

Victor’s late, having been caught in a twenty car pile-up on a freeway, but he can make up for lost time starting now. He closes the distance and kisses Yuuri as the wedding guests applaud and call out their appreciation for the grand finale. Yuuri kisses back while tasting of guava juice and cassis macarons, and Victor’s hands grip his waist as if he’s ocean spray, soon to dissolve and morph into fog or a raincloud.

The kiss ends, and Victor sees the smile on Yuuri’s lips, the softness in his eyes. 

He was running late, he thinks as they kiss again. He was running late, but thanks to a shortcut he managed to get in just under the wire.


End file.
